


Lost and Found

by caixa



Series: Short, sweet and sour: song fics and random prompts [5]
Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, M/M, Mentioned Justin Williams
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-29
Updated: 2020-10-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 900
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27269809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caixa/pseuds/caixa
Summary: “Okay,” Rod says. “I just had to get you to stop kicking that curb. Skating is a bitch if you have broken toes.”Sebastian's morning sucks. He has just been dumped by his lover, his head coach must think he's a mess and he can't even get coffee.
Relationships: Sebastian Aho/Rod Brind'amour
Series: Short, sweet and sour: song fics and random prompts [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1986439
Comments: 8
Kudos: 34





	Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Restricted Work] by [caixa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/caixa/pseuds/caixa). Log in to view. 



> Written for a Tumblr prompt: Luotsivene by Neljä Ruusua, for Sepe/Roddy. More about the song in the end notes.
> 
> Cross posted here and on Tumblr.
> 
> This fic is also a time stamp / alternative POV between two scenes in the 4th chapter of my Aho/Williams fic Still of the Night - it is linked as an inspiration above. (The timeline is not an exact match but enough to make this a fitting piece in the puzzle.)

Sebastian picks up the pace of his steps but to no avail: the service window of the Tim Hortons coffee truck is shut, the metal panel folded down, and it stays closed even though he runs over to knock on the shiny red metal and holler _“Hey”_ and _“Please”._

This is some great fucking morning. First Justin dumps him and now he can’t even get coffee.

Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. Coffee is no reason to cry over but he isn’t even going to think what is; he backs down from the truck in floundering steps, eyes getting misty and blurry. His heel hits the edge of the pavement and he almost trips down backwards; that would be so fitting for the situation, to fall on his ass, but he maintains his balance, pivots on the ball of his foot and kicks the curb.

His toes hurt hitting the hard concrete but he kicks it again, again, again.

“Hey! Seabass!”

An ever-familiar voice cuts Sebastian’s action mid-kick, leaving his foot to hang stupidly in the air until he lets it slowly down on the ground. A heat of embarrassment starts creeping up to his cheeks.

He wouldn’t have _needed_ their head coach to catch him like this.

Rod jogs to his side in easy steps and leans to his knees to look him in the eye. Rod isn’t really taller than him, but Sebastian is hanging his head, posture sunken uncharacteristically.

Sebastian tries to wipe his eyes quickly and nonchalantly, as if to pretend he’s brushing off sweat, but no way does that fool Rod. His muscular arm drapes heavy and warm across Sebastian’s back, fingers squeezing his shoulder.

“Sebastian,” Rod says in a soft, low voice, “what’s the matter, kid?”

The word _kid_ cuts Sebastian like a knife, it sounds too much like Justin fucking Williams, and he sniffles involuntarily. A tear rolls down his cheek and he hates how it exposes his vulnerability.

Rod, apparently acting out of instinct, wipes it off with his wide thumb and that is _definitely_ too much. Sebastian shudders from a sob he tries to withhold, and he squirms away from Rod’s hold.

“It’s nothing. Leave me alone,” he mumbles.

Rod nods and leaves his shoulders with a friendly rub on the back of his neck.

“Okay,” he says, “I just had to get you to stop kicking that curb. Skating is a bitch if you have broken toes.”

A chuckle escapes from Sebastian’s pursed lips, and he snorts out of his nose that has got stuffy with the tears. He bats moisture out of his eyelashes and wipes his nose with the back of his hand like a child.

Rod laughs softly. “Aren’t you a mess, Sebastian. You don’t know if you should laugh or cry. Or kick or scream.” He nudges Sebastian’s closer shoulder before crossing his arms over his chest. “Now, please tell me what’s bothering you. Let me help.”

Sebastian straightens his posture, rolling his shoulders and lifting his chin, squints his eyes slightly, assessing whether to trust Rod with his worries or not. He knows he can’t spill it all to him; it’s quite enough for one morning that Rod sees the mess he is outside, he doesn’t have to bare the mess inside. Not all of it, at least.

But maybe he could use company. To distract him from his thoughts, to keep his head above the surface until he can safely ponder the gravity of Justin’s words.

Sebastian turns his head and gazes at the Tim Hortons truck.

“I just wanted coffee,” he says.

Rod shakes his head, a smirk rippling on his lips.

“I think we can find you some in the hotel.”

Sebastian stifles a shudder, he doesn’t want to run into teammates in the lobby bar in his current fragile state. He feels like everyone’s eyes would be on him, they all know by now that he spent the night in Justin’s room, they might see that he has been crying. His knees feel suddenly weak, they give in, just slightly, but enough that he grabs Rod’s forearm for balance.

Rod looks at him, worry in his eyes.

“I don’t want to go to the lobby,” Sebastian says in a choked voice, Christ he really _is_ a mess, he realizes he looks Rod in the eye like a frightened animal, pleading and bewildered.

Rod pats the back of his hand that is still resting on his forearm.

“It’s okay, kid,” he says. “You get some rest and I’ll get you room service. Then you’ll talk. If you want to, but I _hope_ you’ll want to. Whatever it is, you need to get it off your chest or it will fuck up your game. Whenever you’re ready.”

Sebastian looks to the side, then moves his gaze back to Rod, a bit steadier now.

“Thanks, Roddy,” he says. He worries his lower lip with his teeth, looks away, looks at Rod again. “Can I ask something of you?”

Rod nods. “Sure.”

“Can you please not call me _kid_ right now?”

The corner of Rod’s mouth twitches, not in scorn but in compassion for Sebastian’s agony. He lifts his hand from the back of Sebastian’s hand, places it on the nape of his neck and pulls him in for a quick hug, face pressed on Sebastian’s hair.

“Of course I can,” he mutters. “Of course I can, Sebastian.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos and comments make me very very happy.
> 
> The song that I used as an inspiration for this fic - as requested by the anonymous Tumblr ask - is Luotsivene by Neljä Ruusua, a Finnish band that sings in Finnish.
> 
> The song is a love song about being lost after losing a source of guidance / love and trust issues when meeting a new person - the protagonist of the lyrics wants them but is afraid to fall in love after the past experiences. "Luotsivene" means a pilot boat that helps ships navigate on unknown waters.
> 
> You can listen to it and read translation of the lyrics on [this site](https://www.musixmatch.com/lyrics/Nelj%C3%A4-Ruusua/Luotsivene/translation/english).
> 
> \---  
> I'm [caixxa](https://caixxa.tumblr.com) and [ badhockeymom](https://badhockeymom.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.


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